Her phone buzzed suddenly, and relief surged through her chest. Until she read the message. The kids are busy with school stuff today. We’ll let you know when we need you again. She read it twice, her mind trying to rearrange the words into something less cruel. When we need you again.
Not “see you soon,” not “thank you,” just that, as if she were a service to be called upon. Her throat went dry. She typed, Oh, alright. Just wanted to make sure everyone’s okay, and sent it before she could overthink. The message was marked delivered, then nothing. Outside, the tulips on the counter had begun to droop, their yellow petals curling inward.